Suleyma was born in El Salvador, where she spent the first twelve years of her life. Her childhood, though marked by the absence of her mother, was filled with the care of her grandmother and aunt. When her mother left for the United States in search of better opportunities, it was her grandmother who became the anchor of her world. That sense of stability was shattered when her grandmother passed away, forcing a transition that would alter the course of her life.
At just twelve years old, Suleyma was brought to the U.S. to live with her mother, stepfather, and brothers. The adjustment was not easy. A new country, a new culture, and a new language meant she often felt like a stranger in her own skin. But she leaned on her brothers, who attended the same school, and with their help, she slowly adapted. High school brought new challenges but also opportunities. Suleyma finished her studies and decided to pursue a career in the medical field, enrolling in courses to become a medical assistant.
Life moved quickly. She became a mother herself, raising four children. Providing for them was always at the forefront of her mind. To support her family, she took work wherever she could find it. Her early years were spent in hotels and housekeeping jobs. The labor was grueling, and she knew she wanted something more sustainable, something that could provide stability without breaking her physically.
When she completed her medical assistant training, Suleyma landed a job with a family doctor. At first, it seemed like the fresh start she needed. But when she requested time off to visit family in El Salvador, her request was denied. The refusal left her feeling trapped. She needed flexibility, especially as a mother. The sting of that rejection lingered, and she began looking for other work.
That was when she came across a job posting on Indeed. The ad described a gynecology office with flexible hours—perfect for a mom who wanted to be close to her kids’ schools. The pay wasn’t extraordinary, but the promise of time off and the location drew her in. She applied and was quickly hired.
Only later did she learn it was an abortion clinic.
At first, Suleyma’s duties were limited to general patient care—taking vitals, drawing blood, preparing rooms. But within a month or two, she was moved into direct involvement with abortions. She began assisting in surgical procedures and preparing patients who came for chemical abortions.
The clinic performed abortions up to 17 weeks. Officially, that was the cutoff, and Suleyma never saw exceptions. But the work itself was jarring.
The first time she witnessed an abortion, she tried to focus only on the tray she was handing over to the doctor. She avoided looking at the procedure itself. Still, something inside her twisted. She was a mother herself. She had little ones waiting for her at home, and she couldn’t reconcile that reality with what she saw at work.
Over time, the discomfort never really went away. Patients often came in with sadness in their eyes. Some seemed rushed, as though abortion was their only option. Others returned later, seeking ultrasounds or expressing regret. Some even asked, “Why didn’t you stop me?” Suleyma and her coworkers were never allowed to counsel women against abortion. That would have risked their jobs. Their role was to move patients along the process, never to question it.
The clinic itself didn’t feel like a medical facility should. Instruments were sometimes not appropriately cleaned. Suleyma remembers speculums being set aside after the doctor noticed they hadn’t been sterilized well enough. Supplies were limited, and the level of sanitation fell far below what she knew hospitals required. Patients with complications—such as infections—were often referred elsewhere. Once the abortion was completed, the doctor rarely wanted to take responsibility for any follow-up care.
Despite all this, Suleyma stayed at the clinic for five years. What kept her there wasn’t passion for the work, but practicality. The clinic offered flexibility. Time off was easily granted, unlike in her previous job. With children at home, that mattered. Paychecks came regularly, and leaving felt risky. Like many of her coworkers, she sometimes felt there were no other options.
But the unease never went away.
The turning point came after her third child. Suleyma had undergone a tubal ligation, believing her family was complete. Six years later, however, she found herself pregnant again. Carrying her fourth child while working in the abortion clinic brought her inner conflict into sharp focus.
Her coworkers never told her directly to hide her pregnancy, but their disapproval was visible in their faces. Patients looked at her belly and silently judged. The contradiction weighed heavily on her—helping end pregnancies during the day while nurturing life within her own body.
Her baby became her wake-up call. She knew she couldn’t keep working in that environment.
Quietly, Suleyma began planning her exit. She saved money so she could survive for a time without work. She didn’t tell her coworkers she was leaving, fearing retaliation. One day, she simply decided she was done. And she walked away.
The relief was immediate.
After leaving the clinic, Suleyma learned about And Then There Were None. For her, this connection was nothing short of providential.
It began with a woman named Janice, a Catholic sidewalk counselor who had been outside the clinic for years. Janice had been praying for Suleyma and her coworkers, often offering quiet encouragement as they walked into work. When Suleyma finally confided that she was ready to leave, Janice immediately told her about ATTWN. At first, Suleyma was hesitant—unsure if she wanted to share her story with strangers—but she knew she needed guidance.
She reached out, and within days she received a package in the mail from ATTWN. Inside were books, resources, and handwritten notes of encouragement. For the first time since leaving, Suleyma didn’t feel isolated in her decision. “You gave me the ‘yes’ I needed,” she reflected. “You gave me permission to believe that it was okay to walk away—and that I wasn’t alone.”
The support went beyond words. Her client advocate, Courtney, walked with her through the early weeks of uncertainty, helping her prepare for job interviews, connecting her with retreats, and reminding her that healing was possible. When Suleyma attended one of ATTWN’s Healing Foundation retreats, she realized just how much the abortion industry had stolen from her.
During those years, she had come home from work angry, short-tempered, unable to show affection to her children. The guilt and shame weighed on her so heavily that she would sit in her car for nearly an hour after her shifts, trying to switch from clinic worker to mom. By the time she walked through the door, her children often received the scraps of her energy. Hugs felt uncomfortable. “I love you” rarely passed her lips. She knew she was a mother, but she didn’t feel like one.
The retreat opened her eyes. Surrounded by other women who had walked the same road, she realized that she wasn’t alone in her struggles. They, too, had carried the weight of regret, guilt, and emotional numbness. They, too, had felt motherhood slipping from their grasp. Through prayer, counseling, and community, Suleyma began to believe she could reclaim what was lost.
Slowly, she started practicing small changes—telling her children she loved them every night, embracing them when they reached out, choosing patience instead of anger. “I used to be a sad, bad, and angry mom,” she admitted. “Now I try to be present. My kids can see that. They know I love them.”
And Then There Were None gave her more than resources—it gave her back her motherhood. By reminding her of her dignity and worth, the organization helped restore her identity, not just as a worker leaving a job, but as a woman, a daughter of God, and most importantly, a mother.
Today, Suleyma is free from the clinic, free from the constant shadow of guilt, and free to pour her energy into her children. She treasures their family vacations, like a seven-day trip to St. Martin that brought them closer together. She laughs with them, prays with them, and looks forward to her oldest daughter’s upcoming quinceañera with joy.
When she reflects on her journey, Suleyma knows one thing with certainty: the abortion industry robbed her of precious years with her children, but God, through the ministry of And Then There Were None, has given her a second chance.
To the women still inside the clinics, she offers hope: “You think you can’t leave because you need the paycheck. I thought that, too. But there is a life waiting for you on the other side. There is healing. There is freedom. You can be a mom again.”